Memorial Day
Spring quietly left the room this weekend and summer tapped me on the shoulder, whispered promises I won’t forget. Yesterday Cai took his first shower. After the past six months of fighting over getting his hair and face wet at bath time, I coaxed him into the shower after a dip in our friend’s L.A. hot tub. 45 minutes later I pulled him out shriveled and white and begging for just a few more minutes. Little man. On our way to our first weekend vacation stop, friend’s in Santa Maria, Solomon lifted his finger as I sang Raffi songs to him, pointed to me in a business-like manner and said, “Ma-ma.” He has said this word many times before, but always for something he wanted, not specificly me. A few minutes ago I set him down for a nap after a morning in the pool and he briefly opened his eyes, smiled at me and said it again, “Mama”, like butter on warm bread, like nothing else I tell you.
After two seasons out of the water, Cai has had some trepidation. Yesterday he got comfy in the hottub with an innertube and today graduated to the pool, kicking his little self around and being three and wonderfully himself.
Yesterday my friend and I took her older son and Cai to the movies. Afterward, pulling out of the parking lot I noticed one of my earrings was gone. I left friend and kids alike in the car and scanned the parking lot, retraced every step in the horrid L.A. mall, even excused myself around the kids sweeping up the theatre. They looked at me strangely when I told them I’d lost a small silver lily earring. I keep seeing someone else spot it on the street. See them eye it and step past it, or pocket it casually and wonder about it later, on top of their washing machine, soon to be tossed in the garbage, bound for the dump.
I know I’m crazy. Really, I’m aware of it.
But I really have had the feeling that my grandmother has been watching and it’s all twisted up with those earrings. I walk around like a bad drunk, like a frazzled crazy person with a single earring hanging down, lost her jewelry, lost her marbles. Now I see my Gram's sweet face, just one eye open, like a pirate, or a child trying to convince his mother he’s already asleep. Can she see half as much now? Maybe more? Can she see me? Sunkissed and grateful, warm with chlorine, thick with love. I feeling like waving, reaching up and saying, “Can you see all this? Can you still see me? I wish you were here. I hope you are well. Please watch over my babies.” But I keep my crazy a little private. I don’t reach my hands to the sky. I just sneak away to my laptop on a Memorial day afternoon pool party and count my blessings, send silent kisses to the sky.
After two seasons out of the water, Cai has had some trepidation. Yesterday he got comfy in the hottub with an innertube and today graduated to the pool, kicking his little self around and being three and wonderfully himself.
Yesterday my friend and I took her older son and Cai to the movies. Afterward, pulling out of the parking lot I noticed one of my earrings was gone. I left friend and kids alike in the car and scanned the parking lot, retraced every step in the horrid L.A. mall, even excused myself around the kids sweeping up the theatre. They looked at me strangely when I told them I’d lost a small silver lily earring. I keep seeing someone else spot it on the street. See them eye it and step past it, or pocket it casually and wonder about it later, on top of their washing machine, soon to be tossed in the garbage, bound for the dump.
I know I’m crazy. Really, I’m aware of it.
But I really have had the feeling that my grandmother has been watching and it’s all twisted up with those earrings. I walk around like a bad drunk, like a frazzled crazy person with a single earring hanging down, lost her jewelry, lost her marbles. Now I see my Gram's sweet face, just one eye open, like a pirate, or a child trying to convince his mother he’s already asleep. Can she see half as much now? Maybe more? Can she see me? Sunkissed and grateful, warm with chlorine, thick with love. I feeling like waving, reaching up and saying, “Can you see all this? Can you still see me? I wish you were here. I hope you are well. Please watch over my babies.” But I keep my crazy a little private. I don’t reach my hands to the sky. I just sneak away to my laptop on a Memorial day afternoon pool party and count my blessings, send silent kisses to the sky.
